Back to Shore

In my dreams bodies come and go,
scenes run their courses fluently.

Reunions held at old high schools,
chapels filling with silent mourners.

The Great South Bay still the same,
but in the mansion decades race by.

Time is no friend to the hangers on,
rolls over rock and limb, all of it goes.

I linger with some more than others,
some living, some dead, some coming.

Here we ask for meaning and syntax,
there we realize there is no “there.”

In dreams begin responsibilities, sure;
we also blend our DNA as lovers, too.

There is only That Which Is, bold, free,
uncompromising in its perfect loving.

I often awaken a bit confused, not sure,
is there anything more real than this?

Daylight slips through last night’s slits,
riding over blinds, slipping in silently.

Rolling over, I wish to go back, but
can’t; the night is finished, day anew.

I look at where you used to be with me;
it remains empty and embraces silence.

In the end are the lifetimes out on loan,
how they fit where and how they rhyme.

Drifting back into the sea of love and mercy,
dreams roll over me, a tide of grace brings
me back to the shore.

© John Kadela